


She's Got a Knife for a Smile and a Dark, Dark Heart

by Isis_McGee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Demon!Jo, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Universe Alteration, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis_McGee/pseuds/Isis_McGee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley dragged Jo to Hell, and she's making the most of it. </p><p>It's easy to do, being the power behind the throne and with new souls, even familiar ones, coming down all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Got a Knife for a Smile and a Dark, Dark Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 SPN Reversebang. Art by Patriciatepes on LiveJournal (link in story beginning)

[Art](http://patriciatepes.livejournal.com/56227.html)

 

He’d been smitten with her from the moment he watched her put his guards on their asses; even if he had wanted the Winchesters to break in and had sent out his dumbest goons, he’d loved how committed she was to the part. How tiny she looked in that black scrap of a dress. But ultimately he’d loved the strong line of her body and the way it had radiated fierceness even through his security camera feed.

But he’d been even more intrigued when he saw the minute way her face had softened as she’d nodded towards Dean Winchester and the way her eyes never left his retreating form. She could be useful. And he couldn’t wait to see what sort of fun it would be when she broke.

*

She spit blood in his face the first time she saw him. Her insides had been torn up, the now scraps of her skin barely hanging on from her body and she took the energy to hock the blood that had risen to the back of her throat as soon as the hellhounds had torn into her into his face.

He blinked and raised a handkerchief to his cheek, examining the red it was stained with when he pulled it away. She’d glared absolute hatred at him when he responded to it with a mild look. She’d flinched back from his touch so hard when he reached a hand out towards her that she cried out in the pain she’d caused herself; fresh blood seeped from her wounds. He scowled and reached a hand out again, forcing it to her forehead and when she was healed, her fist came up and he caught it effortlessly.

“Now, now, Joanna, love, that’s no way to treat your future king.”

*

He wasn't King yet though, not by a long shot and not for a long while and Jo suffered for it. She was in Hell and there wasn't anything she could do to change that, no matter how much favor she had with a demon who maybe had some power or would have; she was in Hell. She was on the rack and she was in pain and she wanted to cry out every single minute of every single day because she wasn't strong enough for this. Not for this. She couldn’t bear to hear the way blades tore into her flesh, the way the hellhounds they let watch her breathed deep and smelled her scent, smelled the blood pooling down below her. She couldn't bear any of it. But she did. Jo Harvelle bore Hell because there was no other choice for her and she dealt with the pain and the stench and the horrible noises of a place devoid of any hope other than one day it might stop.

And she took that hope the first chance she got it. The apocalypse had probably already begun on earth and she didn't kid herself enough to think that the day she wrapped her hand around the handle of a whip that anything would happen from it. She had no destiny and she let her remorse and guilt and the incredible hurt it caused her to step off her torture rack and onto the floor where smiles and wicked glints of the eyes in the reflection on the knives were the norm sink away into another life where she hadn't sacrificed herself for the world and still been dragged down into Hell for it. She would do what she had to do

Because she did have some favor with a demon who may or may not have been on the verge of becoming powerful. She'd heard Crowley's words in her head every day "your future king" and she'd known that if he wanted her there, he'd take her with him by his side. If he was going after a throne, she'd have one next to him. Or better yet, behind him. Because she would control her own life and her own fate. She was not someone's pawn, or a piece to be used no matter what Crowley or her mother or the Winchesters had ever thought of her; Joanna Beth Harvelle would find her power or she would make it, because she had nothing left to lose.

*

It didn't take her long. There had always been something there bubbling on the surface for Jo; she'd hid it, had wanted to deny it all together, but she understood pain, she understood fury, she understood wanting. She'd wanted to help people, and she could say how this did. There was no choice and so she made one.

Her eyes were black as quickly as they could be and when she knew it, when she felt that she'd twisted all the way around, from hunter to no longer hunted because she would make sure of it, she dropped her whip, she dropped her knife, and she let her hair down, and she went to find Crowley.

Who wasn’t in Hell.

Jo found him in an isolated manor he’d conned out of a man whose soul was headed for a hell that would be newly redesigned by the time he arrived.

“Why Murmansk?” was what Jo asked when she saw him. His lip curled up into a smirk and he swirled the brandy in his snifter around once. He poured a scotch and then held out the snifter of brandy for Jo, the alcohol as brown as Jo’s eyes used to be when she was happy in the mid-summer afternoons when she’d go shooting bottles off the fence post behind the roadhouse. She didn’t take the glass. He sipped his scotch.

“I thought you might like the darkness.”

Jo’s fingertips brushed his when she did reach out and take the glass. She felt Crowley’s eyes on the bob of her throat as she swallowed the liquid as though it were meant to be shot down and not savored and she could feel that Crowley was about to protest before she stopped him with one hand planted on the arm of his chair and her body sliding onto his lap while her other hand relieved him of his scotch. She held the glass to his lips and he didn’t look away from her eyes as they turned black and she poured too much into his mouth and it spilled onto his chin.

Jo’s tongue lapped up the taste of the spilled alcohol before she answered.

“I do.”

*

Part of her wanted to kill them when she knew Crowley was working with them. She knew that some part of her should want the Winchester brothers dead, but she didn’t seem to find it in her to well and truly care enough. Crowley nearly begging in explanation of why he needed them amused her though.

“They’ll be able to catch us beasties, love. Beasties that will bring us a way to Purgatory and that way lies‒”

“Even more souls to power Hell and those who lead it, I know, Crowley,” Jo finally said. It amused her only so far. She lay back down on the chaise she’d insisted upon having, the soft white fur it was lined with feeling deliciously cool and velvety against her bare back. She threw her legs up onto the raised section of the couch and she looked at Crowley over her shoulder. She saw her hair was fanned out behind her out of the corner of her eye. “I want this throne more secure even more than you do. But I’m bored of being your secret weapon. I’m all by myself when you leave.”

Jo walked her fingertips down from her knees, now bare thanks to gravity, to where the silk of her skirt piled up showing just the barest flash of her golden pubic hair. She knew Crowley saw her even if his eyes never moved.

“Can’t I have someone to hurt while you’re gone?” She sighed after she said it, steeling herself up to win Crowley, as easily as she always had. “I feel like I’m getting soft without it.”

The next time he left to go torment the Winchesters and their moral compasses which may or may not have both been swinging true north,  there was a note nailed to a middle aged man’s chest that simply said “For you, darling. XO Crowley.” The redheaded woman who came in with him had no note, but Jo knew they must have come as a set.

When Crowley returned, he saw that the pair of kiddie pornographers had begun to be repurposed as red dye for the fur on the chaise. He smiled when he also saw that their blood decorated Jo’s cheeks and neck and hands and she was grinning up at him, expectantly awaiting a kiss dropped onto her mouth, and holding out a knife for him if he wanted to join her.

Instead he sat on the clean chair of her room and felt his interest perk up as Jo went back to work.

*

Even Castiel didn’t know about Jo, though Jo knew all about him and his deal with Crowley. She wondered how badly it was going to break Dean’s heart when he found out his friend has been dealing with the devil they know behind his back. It would probably shear him apart.

She almost wished she’d be able to get to tell him that she was the one who planted the idea in Crowley’s head in the first place. Jo Harvelle made a very good demon, and an even better puppet master for the king of Hell.

*

He wanted the redesign, the waiting in line forever only to have nothing happen once you got to the front layout of Hell. It lasted only long enough to show Castiel, to prove Jo’s point that it would never convert new demonic souls, and then she found a way to make him change it.

She told him she wanted to teach others. She was the best there’d been down there since Dean had taken a blade from Alistair’s hand and sliced into the soul of one Abigail Prescott as his first act of torsion and she needed to be in charge. Crowley needed her to be in charge.

And so sometimes, she was, showing souls exactly where to inflict the most pain by doing it to them and then handing them the knife so they could turn right around and do it to the next in line. But she mostly made sure that Hell ran like a well-oiled machine, as it should while Crowley spent so much of his time on the earth. So much of his time with the Winchesters.

The day she told him she thought he might have an even bigger crush on Dean than she had had, he tried to take her right where she stood, tried to bend her over that same chaise lounge that was at one point white, but she just laughed and kissed him deep until she could push him onto his back and ride him hard and fast until her inner muscles seized around his cock as she came and then she stood up and walked away while he was hard and wanting.

*

She believed in free will, she did, but she believed in it only when someone’s choices were seemingly all taken away and then they made a choice. Because there always was one.

She didn’t like it when people told her, when they picked up the blade she held out to them after flaying them, that they didn’t have one. Most of the time she wanted to shove them back onto the rack. Instead, she stood over their shoulder and reminded them that this was their choice. They chose to slice into the new soul on the table, how deep, how quick, which veins to open up, and Jo made sure they knew. They knew that it was their decision.

She smiled when they tried to turn what they thought of as dagger gazes on her.  She smiled and she stuck a knife she’d left on the hot coals into their backs before ordering them to move.

A harsh taskmaster, maybe, but it was necessary. She’d do what she needed to in order to keep her kingdom in its rightful order.  And it didn’t hurt that she felt the pleasure of it deep in her gut where there were scars from her hellhound death. They’d tingle and she’d leave her students to their work to find her King so he could help her feel that pleasure everywhere.

And that was how it went for a while.

*

She pretends for the sake of Crowley and whatever plan he might have for her presence at his side. She pretends she’s been plucked from heaven and not torn from the depths and she pretends her eyes have never gone black and that she doesn’t want Dean to feel guilty. But it’s delicious; she can taste how painful this is for him and her mouth practically waters. Even part of her former human self gets some sick satisfaction out of reminding Dean that he might have been able to help her out of the life.

She brings a hand up to his cheek and suddenly she _feels_ like she hasn’t since she last saw him, like she hasn’t since she was human and on solid Earth. There is some part of her that remembers what it was like to want to keep him safe from hurt if she could. There’s part of her that this is difficult for‒it’s awful and for a moment she feels dizzy and sick and she wants to be gone, but she knows that when she can go home‒ because Hell is home, with her tools and her furs and her power, it is her home and domain‒ that she will feel better and her hand isn’t on Dean’s cheek anymore and she is safe and sound surrounded by the screams of the damned that she brought back to restored pandemonium.

Jo doesn’t think about Dean at all. She pretends she doesn’t. And she lets Crowley be in charge that night. Drops to her knees and bares her slender back for him to mark with a whip or a cane or whatever he chooses as she services him and does not think about Dean Winchester or what it would feel like to turn his guilt into rage on her rack. She knows that if she did think about that, she would come, just shake apart with orgasm, and she doesn’t want that right now.

Later, though; later, she will want it. And later, she may find a way to convince her king to let her get it.

*

Bobby’s in hell. Jo, shockingly, doesn’t like it, and she’s surprised that Crowley does.

“What happened to integrity?” She shoots at him, venom in her voice.

“This is more useful than integrity,” is Crowley’s reply. And Jo suddenly recognizes the feeling she has: jealousy. She’s been Crowley’s secret weapon for what feels like centuries as this point, but now Bobby’s here and that would hurt Sam and Dean even worse. _It’s one thing if hot little sister’s in hell, but dear old better than our Daddy? Forget it,_ she thinks. And Crowley did seem to have a soft spot for Bobby, another vicious voice in her head whispers to her. She accuses him of it immediately after she thinks it.

“It’s hard not to when you’ve owned a man’s soul.”

Crowley shrugs at Jo’s rage and it sets her off further. She tears the room apart, rends the silk negligees he’d gotten her into pieces, rips open the feather pillows, knocks down the vanity mirror he loved to watch them fuck in, screams until Crowley winces and waves a hand to shut her up. He may allow her to be the power behind the throne, but he’s been a demon much, much longer than Jo has, and even if he hadn’t, being the king has its perks.

“Joanna, stop throwing a tantrum.” Jo stomps her foot down and Crowley rolls his eyes at her. It makes her smile at least a fleeting smile. “Come here, love.”

Jo shuffles over to Crowley with a pout on her face. Crowley tips her chin up to force her to look at him.

“You’re still my beloved queen, pet. Still my girl.”

“I’d better be,” is Jo’s response. She’s still pouting though.

“Anything you want. Anything at all.”

And Jo smiles outright then. Backs away from Crowley until her legs hit the bed and then she curls a finger and beckons him. His mouth curls into a smirk and he follows her summons until she can grab his tie and pull his head between her legs and keep him there until she comes with a cry.

*

When she parades in front of him, draped over Crowley’s arm and looking up at the king exaggeratedly adoringly, Bobby doesn’t believe it’s really Jo. He thinks it’s a trick, that she’s just a figment made to look like Jo as a demon, but she keeps coming around.

Sometimes images of Sam and Dean come to visit him as well, sometimes with black eyes, sometimes without, but Jo’s eyes are always black. She always shows Bobby that she died for them to have a chance to save the world and that she wound up in Hell, its behind the scenes Queen. He doesn’t know that last part, but she thinks her presence might be helping Bobby go crazy quicker.

She really hates it when Sam comes to rescue him; she’d already been mad enough at him for killing her favorite of the hellhounds‒ it’d taken her so long to get used to them—and then he goes and takes Bobby away when she’d been starting to have so much fun with him around.

Crowley promises her he’ll find her something better to have fun with, but he doesn’t before Abaddon comes out of whatever corner she’d been hiding in even though she’d been on Earth since before the Winchesters started their scheme, and Hell, as the home Jo knew it, shatters apart.  

*

Jo never hated a demon as much as she hates Abaddon; she hated them on principal before, when she was human, but never on an individual basis for personal reasons. But she remembers every single part of her training as a hunter and she wants to go old school with it to bring Abaddon down; she doesn’t want to use any of her tactics learned after death unless she has to‒ she knows every part of her would get satisfaction from beheading the bitch. Only the demon would like to see that severed head with its flame red hair on an iron rod set up just to face Crowley’s throne.

But of course, she can’t. She’s not suicidal. She may be a demon but she likes the way she’s living this afterlife so far. It’s fun and she has the power to make things happen however she wants them to.

And Abaddon is ruining all that by trying to take away her puppet.

(no matter how many times Crowley smacks her down, no matter how many times he proves that he is powerful, no matter how many ways he is King and gets his way, Jo can’t stop believing that he is her puppet, that she can have a say in every single thing she wants and it doesn’t matter if they’re letting the other believe whatever they want in order to get what they want, it’s working for them so far and neither would want their relationship to not be so twisted up into pain and power that they couldn’t tell who caused what and who wielded what)

Abaddon isn’t the one who takes Crowley away.

It’s the Winchesters and Jo’s left in Hell, watching her kingdom come to a screeching pause while its King is MIA and there’s a contender for the throne and Jo needs to do something, but she has no idea what.

*

Crowley’s sick. Jo didn’t realize how much that would hurt her, but it does. In fact, it might be making her sick too.

Crowley’s sick and Abaddon’s gaining traction with demons and Jo is the on the verge of spitting up blood from worry about everything and then she isn’t.

Jo remembers that even before she was the consort to the King of Hell, before she was the off screen Queen, she was Joanna Beth Harvelle and she took no shit, feared no bitch, and had a shotgun for a smile. She can do that and more now. So she will.

*

Jo finds out what’s been wrong with Crowley, why he’s been sneaking off after he comes home for seemingly stolen moments, and he begs her forgiveness. Actually kneels on the ground before her feet and cries for her to forgive him, tells her that he only wanted to feel that way‒ the way humans do and he’d forgotten how exquisite it could be‒ and that he’ll stop, stop the human blood and the hookers and everything, if she’ll forgive him and love him and Jo thinks she might actually be sick when he says the words.

Her king has fallen so far. And she will not follow him.

*

When Crowley comes back, he’s shaken up and Jo notices it even if the rest of Hell’s denizens don’t. If they do, they chalk it up to Abaddon, chalk it up to the fact that he can’t be sure who is loyal to him. Jo doesn’t.

But Jo doesn’t waste much time contemplating why there’s something off about him, like he’s seen a ghost or can’t quite grasp a plan, because she has more important things to do.

In lieu of forgiving Crowley, Jo kept her head down and did what she did best in Hell: figured out the best way to amass power with what little influence she had‒ she knew Crowley was her meal ticket and she had to carve and mold and twist every inch of what was left of Hell in just the right way for her power to remain without him and not tip her hand. It wouldn’t do for her king to come after her when he returned to his senses and it would do even less for Abaddon to come after her. Especially when the rumor was that she was creating souls, trying to win the war that way.

Jo doesn’t fight him, even though part of her burns to do so, to claw at him and pluck out his eyeballs before gutting him, but the first time he tries to force her to defer to his judgment, she lays him flat on his back in front of his throne without moving a muscle and says not one word before she walks away.

Later that night she tells him that she will no longer ever take orders from him.

She has found her power separate from him and she knows that he knows he’s lucky she’s still standing beside him out of her own free will.

*

Whispers about the Mark of Cain start and when Dean Winchester’s name gets thrown into the eye of that storm, Jo knows why Crowley ruled with a scheme or blankness in his eye for weeks after coming back.

She tries not to hope.

*

Abaddon’s dead and Crowley doesn’t seem to be in the mood to celebrate. Jo, although she wants to assert her newly cemented dominance and force him to just lay back and take her fucking herself to orgasm on him, just lays a kiss on Crowley’s cheek and finds someone who doesn’t need their skin.

When she comes back to their chambers with a sheen of blood, Crowley’s in a better mood and Jo’s not sure she’s ever come quite the same way she does when he whispers ideas for how they’ll repay those who couldn’t remain loyal to him in the coming months, no‒ years, no‒ centuries.

*

Crowley leaves for earth again and Jo muses aloud about going with him, curling her lips up into a smile at the panic in his face.

“I’m just kidding,” she says.

“Just wait, love. I promise it will be worth it.” He leans down to kiss her on her forehead before he snaps his fingers and is gone. Jo feels like everything has gotten even better than it had been and part of it’s Crowley, more of it’s her, and then there’s a fraction of it that has to do with the crackle in the air that says something big is coming; she can feel it like lightning in her bones and it makes her want to stretch, her body and her powers.

That same current seems to run through everyone else as well. They’re jittery, they’re cackling, and they’re getting on Jo’s nerves enough that she snaps, flinging muzzles and manacles onto everyone she sees, no matter their offense. She just wants to revel in her mounting glee on her own, not have it be burdened with other lesser beings. Jo stands in the throne room and she pricks open her fingertips on the blue stone necklace Crowley brought her last time he came home, and her blood is like flame when it drips slowly onto the ground. The air sizzles even more and she grins widely.

The throne is practically branding her it’s so supercharged with heat when she sits down on top of it. She rests her arms on it and curls her fingers over the ends of the arm rests that are ornately carved and she leans back into the granite. She spreads her legs and she rocks her hips back and forth, back and forth, rutting against nothing but the seam of her jeans, just keeping herself interested as things blaze to life around her. Something’s coming and she doesn’t know what but she cannot wait for it.

What’s coming is Crowley and she nearly climbs him upon his return, but for one factor.

Dean Winchester stands behind him, a rune red and angry and raised up like blisters on his arm and he looks smug and Jo feels a fierce bolt of desire go through her, and then he looks shocked.

It’s Jo’s turn to look smug then, and that sends an even bigger rush through her.  It’s nothing compared to what it does for her to see Dean smile, malevolently, and then his eyes blink to black.

Jo laughs in delight and bounds up to Crowley. Wrapping her arms around him she kisses his cheek and tells him

“Thank you, my King.”

Crowley places his hands delicately on her shoulders and kisses her cheek right back.

“Anything for you, my Queen.”

And it feels like a contract at least one of them has never read had just been signed.

*

When Jo was human, on an honest day she could admit to herself that her dreams of Dean weren’t just about kissing his lips or running her hands down his arms or even feeling him inside her, but of being his partner. She’d nearly fallen in love with the idea of being on hunts with him and getting the same level of respect he had for his brother, of having his back and him having hers, of being his girl in every way possible.

Those dreams pale in comparison to what it’s actually like to be with him now.

Jo had let Crowley kiss her then bound over him and skidded to a halt in front of Dean. They’d looked at each other with smiles slithering onto their mouths and then Jo had taken his arm and laid an open mouthed kiss on the mark there. Dean had wasted no time seizing her arms and pulling her into a biting kiss, filthy and hard and Jo had gotten so wet so fast that it almost hurt.

She’d felt Crowley’s eyes on them the whole time she and Dean had fucked, clothes still half on, snarling right there on the floor of Hell.

*

Jo doesn’t want to take her hands off of Dean at all. She wants him to be naked and black eyed and within her reach always it seems.

Except when she doesn’t. When it’s more fun to watch him with a weapon in his hand, a weapon turned into an instrument of beauty as he wields it to tear a soul apart so thoroughly that she’s shocked that it can be put back together again to repeat the performance, then she’d rather watch that. Of course, she’d rather watch it out of the corner of her eye as she shreds into a soul to Dean’s left. She knows he’s watching her too.  Dean likes to see how hot this partnership makes her.

“Not that it’s not a little fun for me too, but god damn if it just doesn’t make you putty in my hands,” Dean tells Jo before he slips a hand down the front of her pants and feels how slick her panties are. He thrusts two fingers up into her and Jo grinds down on the heel of his hand.

“So you’re doing all this for me?” Jo asks between thrusts.

Dean smirks and Jo knows that he thinks his answer is a no, but she wonders what she’d be able to get him to do all in the name of hedonism. The way he fucks her face after he’s gotten her off, rough until she’s gagging and he’s spilling down her throat with a grunt, makes her think it’d be quite a lot.

*

Jo asks Dean to meet her later and when he shows up, she’s bouncing on Crowley’s dick, hands on her own nipples. Jo meets Dean’s eye and moans when she sees him pull out a chair and take a seat. He palms his cock through his jeans.

Jo forces Crowley’s head to the side so he can see their audience and she knows his eyes fly straight to where Dean’s finally pulled himself out of his jeans to stroke himself off. Jo feels Crowley’s hips stutter and she slaps him, hard and stinging.

“Don’t you dare come before I do just over Dean Winchester.”

Jo’s come twice before either of her men do. She sucks Dean off while her thighs are still shaking and Crowley’s spunk is still inside her and she knows what it does to Crowley to see her bent over, pussy glistening wet while she goes down on Dean. She feels electric.

“Next time,” Jo says once Dean’s come, “I want to watch.”

*

Dean pushes Crowley’s chest into the mattress as he fucks into him. The bed squeaks because Jo wants it to. Crowley’s groaning with every thrust and the pace is brutal and perfect. Dean bends down and bites into Crowley’s shoulder before he speaks.

“Aren’t you glad Jo put this idea in my head? You’re just loving this, aren’t you?”

Crowley’s response is to turn his head to throw an unimpressed look at Dean. “Fuck me a bit harder and we’ll see.” But as he turns back around again‒right as Dean pushes particularly hard into his prostate to make him see fireworks‒ he catches Jo’s eye.

She sits spread eagle in a chair, legs hooked over the arms so her sex is impossible to miss and she swirls her fingers around her clit and down to her entrance and it’s clear she’s truly enjoying the show. When she and Crowley make eye contact, he mouths “thank you” and it makes her want to get up and join the two of them. But too quickly, Dean smacks Crowley’s ass and shoves in and out of him a few more times and the moment is gone for Jo. She’ll get herself off just watching, and it will be torture for everyone really, but that’s what makes it worth it.

*

Dean and Crowley leave, spend some time topside and Jo blazes through souls on the rack while they’re gone.

When they come back, she lets them fuck her at once, Dean pushing into her ass slowly and Crowley into her cunt. She comes like a shot when they snap their hips in alternating rhythm and she can’t wait to do it again.

*

Dean and Crowley leave again, this time secretly, while Jo is asleep in the bed that’s adjusted to fit all three of them. Jo rages when she wakes up to find them gone, but it’s nothing in comparison to what she does when she realizes they’ve been gone a month without ever having checked in with her. But even that looks like a tantrum in light of the damage she does when only Crowley shows back up. Her anger simmers, hiding the fact that it will ultimately boil over. She lets Crowley kiss her, lets him distract himself from the fact that he lost a lover and who he thought of as his best friend, and she doesn’t even fight him for control. She pretends not to see the sadness in his eyes before he falls asleep.

Jo can pretend for him, can keep a lid on her rage, because once Crowley’s out‒for a long while thanks to a flick of her wrist‒, she sets to tearing the fabric of Hell apart, kicking the rubble as she claws her way back into the world. Crowley’ll be livid, but Jo doesn’t care. She’s outgrown his vision of the Hell they’d rule together, and she has new plans that require Dean Winchester to be back where he rightfully belongs. Crowley will understand that, eventually.

Jo will drag Dean back to Hell if she has to. All she has to do first is find him.

  


End file.
